Dreamed I was on an installation that almost felt like an army place. No weapons or anything. But institutionalized structures. Parade grounds.
Me and others. All male. All green. In green uniforms. Like toy army soldiers. I was a small boy. Chubby-cheeked. But green. I learned panic was roiling the place. A large statue had taken up life and grown taller. Men, including my father, were discussing this. “What do you think he wants?”
“He might be angry.”
“I’m sure he’s angry.”
“Of course he’s angry.”
“We have to find out what he wants.”
“I’m sure he’ll let us now.”
“Huge doesn’t begin to cover it.”
Somehow, thinking of the green giant statue — for that’s what it was, one of us, made into a statue at some time, now come to life but much larger — I was doing math and trying to tell them, it’s easy to know how big he is. It’s multiples of seven. He was a three-quarter replica. The original was twenty-eight feet. So the statue was twenty-one feet. Now he’d grown to three times that size when he came to life. I knew that, I thought, because it was he was three/fourths of what of the original. So he was now three times taller. Dream logic, right?
I was trying to tell them, the statue was sixty-three feet tall. That he was hollow. I knew because the statue was hollow. All were hollow metal. Anything else would have been prohibitive. The statue had been made, piece by piece welded onto a frame and then shaped. Bronze, I thought, stained green. Green bronze.
They were not listening to me. Other boys and I commiserated. Fathers. Never listening. Never hearing.
The giant green statue strode into view. Towered over us. Threatening with a scowl. Contemptuous. I kept saying, “Just ask him what he wants.”